


You Know How I Love to Watch You Work

by thebabytiger



Category: Princess Bride (1987)
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-06
Updated: 2009-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebabytiger/pseuds/thebabytiger





	You Know How I Love to Watch You Work

Out of all the people watching the Prince, I think I am the only one who does not find his movements ridiculous as he places his booted feet ever so carefully into a footprint pressed into the dirt and then carefully executes the steps that one of the dueling men (to whom the footprints belong) must have taken. They say that he is a great hunter and tracker, but I am sure that people find his methods interesting, to say the least. I, alone, do not, as I watch him carefully, face impassive as he concentrates, body lithe and graceful as he twirls about the dusty floor. Eventually, he reaches his conclusion and slows down his steps enough so that he is once again pressing his boot heel to toe into the prints.

"There was a mighty duel," he says importantly, and I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Either the man whose steps my love has been tracing was fencing himself, or there was a fight, since this area is not known for any population whatsoever. "It ranged all over," the Prince is continuing. "They were both masters."

"Who won?" I press, urging him to skip the theatrics, even though they bring a small smile to my face. "How did it end?" I add, reminding him which part is the most important for the rest of us to know.

He glances up at me, the expression on his face as close to a pout as it ever gets when our conversations have layers of subtext like this one. The guards around me are oblivious to his sense of fun and my amusement, of my reluctant impatience and his ability to charm my out of almost anything.

"The loser ran off alone," he pronounces, purposefully starting with the loser simply and only so that he gets the last word and I am forced to wait to hear what I was waiting for. "And the winner followed those footprints toward Guilder!" he adds dramatically.

"Shall we track them both?" I ask drily, playing along with him, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice as he gets more ridiculous by the minute.

"The loser is nothing," he tells me seriously, which I knew before he even told me what had happened to the poor fellow. "Only the Princess matters," he adds softly, to lessen the blow I think. The princess sends a fear and jealousy burning through my stomach every time she is mentioned. She is who we are chasing, who he is trying to hard to track. Nevermind that it is he who planned for her kidnap and murder, which has yet to happen, he is still searching for her in a way that he never would for me. It rankles to see him so obsessed over this girl and also sharing private jokes with me. "Clearly this was all planned by warriors of Guilder. We must be ready for whatever lies ahead," he adds, and I can't tell if he's warning me that my feelings and emotions are about to be trampled on, or if he thinks there is an actual physical danger up ahead.

"Could this be a trap?" I asked, still not sure exactly what danger I was talking about or supposedly preparing for.

"I always think everything is a trap, which is why I'm still alive," he says smugly, leaping into the saddle and galloping off before I can question him further, leaving me to follow behind him as always, brain roiling in confusion.

.

.

"If we surrender, and I return with you, will you promise not to hurt this man?" Buttercup asks of my Prince. Being so near to her has put a foul taste in my mouth, making me want to spit in her general direction.

"May I live a thousand years and never hunt again," my Prince swears solemnly, making my nearly spit for real, this time in surprise. He must be bluffing, I decide, unable to quite imagine my lover without hunting.

"He is a sailor on the pirate ship "Revenge." Promise to return him to his ship," Buttercup orders him after a swift look at the man beside her, and despite my dislike for her I feel myself softening towards her as I recognize the feelings on her face as those mirrored in my heart. Then my heart hardens again as I realize she is bossing him about as if she is crowned Queen already and he is a nobody. The sheer thought of it makes me bristle.

"I swear it shall be done," he answers promptly, unthreatened by her orders. Satisfied, Buttercup takes the moment to look deep into the other man's eyes, apology, regret, and love dancing in her eyes. As they lose each other in love's eyes my ears pick up the soft tones of my own love, speaking for my ears alone. I shiver with the pleasure of once again sharing something secret with him in such a public moment.

"Once we're out of sight, take him back to Florin and throw him in the Pit of Despair," he says roughly. I shiver again, this time for a more sinister reason, though just as lusty as the last.

"I swear it shall be done," I say huskily, mimicking his words from before.

.

.

"She's been like that ever since the Fire Swamp," the Prince said as Buttercup walked past them without a word, looking as if she wasn't even truly seeing what was right in front of her. It had been her default mode for days, ever since she had been separated from her lover at the Fire Swamp. As the warmth of jealousy coiled in my stomach, by now a familiar feeling, I wished as much as she did that she was off with him and happy, leaving me to be with my love, and leaving my love with no one else to replace me with. "It's my father's failing health that's upsetting her," he continues, oblivious to our anguish and looking as if he was waiting for a response.

"Of course," I say shortly, unable to deny him anything even when he is being so incredibly obtuse about my feelings for him. He seems satisfied with that.

.

.

"Your Princess is really a winning creature," I say, by way of pleasant conversation in an area where we could be overheard. I've found out in the few days since she's been back that the only way to engage him in anything is through her. "A trifle simple, perhaps, but her appeal is undeniable," I add, unable to resist the small, snide insult, even as I praise her. He cares about her too much or I'd have been much more unpleasant with my language, but even I have limits as to how much acid I can swallow before it eats away my insides.

"Oh, I know," he says smugly, missing the weight of my insult entirely as his mind fixes on her. He has always been proud of his possessions and the quick way to his heart has always been shameless complements. "The people are quite taken with her. It's odd, but when I hired Vizzini to have her murdered on our engagement day, I thought that was clever. But it's going to be so much more moving when I strangle her on our wedding night. Once Guilder is blamed, the nation will be truly outraged. They'll demand we go to war," he adds with relish. I am reminded, and am thankful for it, that he does not love her and that he only needs her to kill her. She will not be around to interfere too much longer. I cannot tell if the reminder was on purpose, designed to soothe me, or completely by accident.

The confusion puts a sour taste in my mouth, so I simply nod and smile as if I care as much about starting this war as he does and continue about our business. "Now, where is that secret knot? It's impossible to find," I mutter, searching the tree for the damned litte thing. After a bit of poking and prodding at the tree, which makes me seem less than competent, I find it and the door swings open with a creak.

"Are you coming down into the Pit? Westley's got his strength back. I am starting him on The Machine tonight," I ask with false cheer, hoping that he'll come with me. The Pit of Despair has long been our hideaway, and the fondness that we both feel for inflicting pain on others can be a reality there. I am hoping that the promise of being able to hurt Westley will entice him to come below with me, to watch my work, to spend time by my side as I always am at his.

"Tyrone, you know how much I love watching you work," he says, voice tinged with regret, and I can already tell what his answer will be. The use of my first name in public (secluded though we are) is meant to pacify me, I know, and to add the intimacy I am longing for. "But, I've got my country's five hundredth anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, MY wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it. I'm swamped," he says helplessly as my face turns to stone. Her again.

"Get some rest -- if you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything," I say, unable to come up with anything better, unable to force myself to say that everything is fine, and so instead dancing around the topic completely. With a tight smile I head down the staircase, leaving him above me, and make my way into our lovers den, so to speak. My gaze only rests once on the rest of the room, where chains and whips and manacles rest on harsh, cold surfaces, before my attention is back on Westley. If I am a bit harsher with him that I would have ordinarily been, it is because his lover is ruining things for me at every turn. I punish him for getting caught and putting me in this mess.

.

.

Footsteps clatter on the stairs and I stand, watching as my love storms down the stairs like an avenging demon. I feel the thrill of arousal at the sight, delighted that at last he has found time to come down here with me. However his glance simply slides over me and onto her object of affection.

"You truly love each other, and so you might have been truly happy. Not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the storybooks say. And so I think no man in a century will suffer as greatly as you will," he growls, reaching for the lever that controls the machine. My heart is breaking at his harsh words, which make it seem as if the connection we share is less than the perfection that I am feeling, but I have enough control of my reasoning skills to see where this is going, and despite myself I can't let him go through with it.

"Not to fifty!" I yell desperately, thinking that it will kill Westley as surely as the Prince's words killed me moments ago. But I'm too late to stop him as the lever slides up to the top and water rushes to create enough power. Westley screams as the pain hits, more intense than ever before, and the sound is both within my head, coming from myself, and without, ringing in my ears. Still, as the Prince looks at his handiwork with obvious satisfaction I can't help but grudgingly enjoy the spectacle as another thrill of arousal shoots through me.

.

.

I am standing at the altar, representing the Prince's security, and watching with a growing feeling of nausea as the ceremony proceeds. I hear the commotion outside as well as the Prince does, but I cannot bring myself to pull away from the feeling of growing horror that this scene evokes in me. However, the ongoing noise is clearly irritating my lover, and with a sharp nod he orders me to go figure out what's going on and put a stop to it. Gagging, I snap and 4 guards fall into step behind me as I walk briskly through the chapel.

For once, I am glad to walk away from him. I cannot stand to be near him any more that this point.


End file.
